Michael's Watch
by jelispar
Summary: Next installment in my AU arc. Something happens to Michael, and Celeste's life will never be the same.
1. Something's wrong

AN: Next installment, two years after Happy Birthday. This story is dedicated in memory of Anne-Marie, my aunt Pamela, and everybody else who has lost a childhood battle with cancer. Your lives were taken too soon, but you've filled our hearts with memories. You will never be forgotten.

Bobby stretched out lazily, looking over to his right where his girlfriend lay, still sleeping soundly. Maybe it was selfish, but it was days like this that he was glad Michael was miles away in Boston keeping his mother from indulging in idle fantasies and allowing him the chance. Those thoughts allowed a tiny bit of jealousy to enter his mind at the idea of Emma indulging in anything with somebody else, but he shrugged that off quickly. She was the mother of his child, and in that way Bobby would always care about her and what she did, but she was certainly his EX-wife. As Bobby donned the pair of pajama bottoms that had been carelessly thrown the night before, Kristen began to stir into wakefulness. "Hey beautiful," he whispered in her ear. "How about some breakfast?"

Kristen, also known as Durga, blinked dark eyes at him for a few seconds before the words finally registered. "Sure." She mumbled, attempting to reign in her unruly mane of thick black hair.

"Great!" Bobby said, lying back down beside her. "So what're you making?" A fierce look crossed Kristen's eyes and a mace appeared in her hand out of nowhere. "Just kidding!" Bobby laughed, running for the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, Bobby pulled out eggs and soy milk along with his regular milk prepared to make omelets. It was strange how many ways Kristen had managed to change his life. She was Emma's exact opposite in every way, where Emma was fair skinned, blond with blue eyes, Kristen's tanned skin and ebony hair belied her Eastern ancestry as much as her dark brown eyes. While Emma was the typical non-practicing Catholic, Kristen followed the Vedic teachings of her mother's family very strictly, _hence the soy milk_ Bobby thought, cringing as he poured the substance that seemed to him like liquefied chalk. That was why she'd chosen the code name Durga, after the wife of Vishnu who helped in the destruction of evil. Durga, the goddess, was often pictured holding weapons to fight evil with in her many hands, and Kristen had the unique ability to solidify the atoms in the air into any solid object; but most importantly weapons to fight bad guys. However, the major difference between the woman in his bed, and his former wife was quite simple: Bobby didn't think it was possible for Kristen to be half as uptight as Emma was on a regular basis. _Yah, life is sweet_. Bobby thought, his mind drifting to the dark beauty lying half naked in his bedroom. _It can't get much better than this_.

His reverie was broken when the phone rang. Leaving the whisk in the 'blasphemy bowl,' as Kristen referred to it so he'd remember which was which, Bobby walked across the room and grabbed the receiver off the wall. "Hank if this is you I'm hanging up." He said cordially as a greeting.

The line was silent for a couple seconds, then..._Bobby?_

"Emma! What's wrong?" The sound of her voice sent chills down Bobby's spine. She sounded like it was an effort to speak, tears choking her voice off.

__

Oh, Bobby! She sobbed, the tears finally breaking through allowing panic to take over. _Bobby I don't know what to do! I don't know what I'm going to do!_

Kristen had entered the kitchen, leaning seductively against the doorframe, but a look from Bobby sent her to a seat at the kitchenette instead. "Em, baby, what's wrong? You gotta talk to me here." Kristen glared at him for that, but Bobby paid no attention, listening instead for the words to break through Emma's cries. "Where are you Emma? Is there somebody else I can talk to?" Through the sobs, Bobby thought he heard an acknowledgement then sounds of the phone being passed to somebody else.

__

Mr. Drake, a male voice came on the line, stiff and professional it made Bobby cringe.

"Who the hell is this," Bobby snarled into the phone. "I swear if you've hurt her..."

__

Mr. Drake, I'm Doctor Nighelli at Children's Hospital in Boston. The words caused dread to pool uncomfortably in Bobby's stomach, unconsciously ice started to creep over his body as he assumed his ice form. _I'm afraid we have some bad news regarding your son Michael. It seems he has developed a rare form of leukemia. We're sending him to the Dana Farber Institute for some more tests, but I'm afraid our findings are quite conclusive. _Silence reigned on the line for a few seconds, and in the back of his mind Bobby mused he should probably say something. Then the voice came back. _It might be best if you were able to come to Boston as quickly as possible to be with Michael._

* * * * * 

"Sissa, play wif me!" A tinny two-year old shriek echoed off the walls of the Lebeau apartment.

Celeste shrugged and turned to glare at her younger sister, while the little girl tugged violently on the straps of Celeste's backpack. "Laur, I can't play with you. I haveta go ta school." Laurel looked at her for a few seconds, huge tears forming in her big blue eyes, then the bottom lip started to quiver and Celeste promptly covered her ears before...

"NOOOOOO!!!!" She wrapped her arms around Celeste's waist and held on for dear life, screaming the entire time. "SISSA NO GO!!!"

"MOOOOOM!" Celeste screamed simply to be heard over the noise the two-year old was making.

Rogue eventually made her way to the front door, prying Laurel away from Celeste, allowing the nine-year old to slip out the door. Fresh screams erupted from Laurel as the door shut, making Celeste disappear from the little girl's world. "Shhhh, baby." Rogue cooed into her hair, as the screams eventually dimmed to sobs. "Celeste has to go to school, baby. She'll be back before you know it." She picked Laurel up and put her back in the playroom where her favorite toys were still strewn across the floor. "Let me know when you want lunch, shugah." That done Rogue went back to her breakfast with her husband. "Ah don't know what it is with that child, Remy."

Gambit just cringed into his coffee. "She'll get over it, chere. Needs ta be away from us more often. T'ink we could pawn 'er off on Stormy once a week?" A devilish smile crept across his lips at the thought of one day a week alone with his beautiful wife.

"Not if yah put it to her like that, swamp rat." Rogue laughed.

Remy was about to come out with a great rejoinder, when the phone rang and interrupted his concentration. Smiling devilishly, he reached out and grabbed the cordless phone. "Allo, Lebeau residence." Rogue laughed, knowing how much he like the sound of that phrase, but the look that crossed her husband's face quickly banished any happy thoughts. "Bobby, homme, slow down." Rogue got up from the table and walked over behind her husband, trying vainly to listen in the phone with him. "Mmm-hmmm... uh-huh...merde...Anyt'in' y'need us t'do?...Okay...uh-huh...How is she...dat bad..." Promptly, Remy put a hand over the mouthpiece, motioning for Rogue to sit down "...Yah, I'm here, homme...'course...be right dere."

"Remy what tha hell is goin' on?" Rogue asked, concern and anger warring over her expression.

Finally Gambit looked her in the eyes, tears lurking in his murky depths. "Dat was Bobby, Emma called him from Chillen's Hospital." He paused, while thoughts of blood and gore passed through Rogue's head. "Michael has cancer."

The shock sent her back down into her chair with a thud. "Good Lawd...is it bad?"

Remy just shook his head. "I tol' him I'd bring 'im ta Boston. Don' trust 'im ta drive or fly right now."

"Course, shugah. When're ya goin'?" Rogue asked calmly, taking a sip of her coffee to settle her nerves.

"Soon as I'm ready ta go." Remy said, moving to stand from the table. He walked to the kids' playroom and looked around the corner at Laurel, who was busy playing with her Little Tykes dollhouse, the Celeste fiasco completely forgotten. He had needed to see her before he left, needed to know that his youngest baby was okay.

Finally she noticed his shadow, covering the light falling on the dollhouse and turned to look at him, her brilliant smile lighting up her face. "Daddy, come play wif me." She said innocently, holding up one of the dolls for him to use. 

Suddenly he felt guilty for wanting to give her to anybody else for even one second, never mind a whole day. "I'd love to angel." Remy said, stepping expertly over the baby gate that kept his little one from venturing too far. "But right now Daddy has t'go on a trip wit Uncle Bobby." Her smile turned immediately into a frown, her freckled nose scrunching up getting ready for the tears to fall. "Don' cry, p'tite." He said, picking her up and whispering into her hair. "I be back soon. Daddy an' Uncle Bobby have t'go on an adventure, like y'Chuck sends us on sometimes. Daddy be back as soon as he c'n. But first I need a kiss."

Laurel obligingly gave him a big smack on the lips. "Daddy, you come back you play dolls wif me? Pwomise?"

"Anyt'ing f'r you, angel." Remy said, then left for the living room where he knew Rogue would be waiting to say the final good-byes. He didn't say anything just looked into her eyes, then melted into her waiting embrace. Even after almost ten years of marriage touching her like this was something that Remy could never get enough of. Pulling away enough to see her face, their foreheads met, touching just slightly while they whispered their good-byes, and the Cajun relished in every second of it. Gently their lips met and he knew it was time to go.

Reluctantly he turned to walk out the door, when Rogue's voice stopped him one last time. "Remy, what am Ah gonna tell Celeste?"

"Don' know, chere." He said, not having the strength to face her. "Whatever y'say, dis is gon' break her little heart. If y' wan' y' c'n wait till I get back." Rogue didn't answer, and Remy finally closed the door to his little apartment, his little family, and stepped out into the mansion to go get Bobby to reunite him with his little family.


	2. A bit of Normalcy

In all his years, this was the first time that Bobby Drake had ever truly felt sorrow. Sure he'd been sad before, like the day Emma threw (literally) the divorce packet at his face, like every time he had to pack Michael up to head back to Boston, but standing here in this place was a sorrow so overwhelming it seeped into his very marrow and made him quake. Children's Hospital wasn't exactly a "sad" place. In fact it was so bright and cheery and airy that if you ignored the wheelchairs, the IVs, the look of strain on the parents faces as they milled about the reception area you could almost forget you were in a hospital. No, the sorrow came from the lies seething under the surface, this was not a bright, cheery place at all. This was a hospital. Worse it wasn't a hospital you brought your child to if they had an earache at three am. No, this was a hospital where children came when there was a good chance they were going to die. Worse still, this was a hospital where his son was a patient because there was a chance, however slim and unlikely Bobby's mind would allow it to be, that his son was going to die.

He stepped up to the receptionist now that it was his turn, opened his mouth, but the words could not come out. He could not force himself to ask what room his child was in because then it would be true, he would be a real patient. A hand made its way to his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. "We here t'see Michael Drake, could y' tell us what room he's in please?" Once again the Cajun was there to save his sorry, deluded ass. One day he'd have to thank him.

"Are you a relation of Michael's?" The Hispanic woman behind the counter asked as she typed away on her keyboard. She was wearing an awful chartreuse sweater, and for the moment that was all Bobby could focus on. He was afraid if he answered he'd tell her that her sweater was ugly, but he didn't want to insult the woman who held the secret of his son's whereabouts. Instead he looked at Remy. Remy understood.

"Dis here," he said, slapping Bobby on the shoulder, "is his Pere, I'm his Uncle."

"I see." The woman smiled what should have been a sympathetic smile, but instead was just condescending. "Do you have any ID?"

__

What was this, maximum security prison? Bobby wanted to scream. _I just want to see my fucking kid before you people put him in a pine box!_ The thought brought his mind to a screeching halt and tears started to form behind his eyes as he handed the woman in the awful sweater his driver's license. _I did not just think that, I did not just think that. Mikey's gonna be fine, he's a fighter, he's a bruiser, he's not gonna end up dead. Please God, don't let my child end up dead._ The woman took their IDs and looked them over. "Uncle hmm, Mister LeBew?" Bobby could feel Remy cringe from the way the woman butchered his name.

"LeBow," he corrected patiently, if a bit snidely. "I'm his sister's husb'nd." The lie came easily to the Cajun and in a way it was almost true, after all Rogue might as well be his sister the way they acted together sometimes.

"Of course." Ugly sweater stated, handing the IDs back along with two tags, each printed with their names. "Please keep these with you at all times, this is how our staff identifies family members who are exempt from visiting hours. Michael's room is on the third floor, number 326. Take the elevators on the left to the third floor, go right and his room should be on your right about six doors down. Please check in at the nursing station so they know who you're visiting. Best wishes."

The way she said it, it should have been 'my condolences,' but Bobby, now that he had a goal, was heading for the elevators so fast that he almost didn't realize when he reached them. "Y'okay popsicle?" Remy asked him once they were in the elevator with the doors shut. "Y'been quiet."

Bobby shook his head no. "That woman had on a hideous sweater." Someday it might be a funny statement, but today it was Bobby's way of saying that he was still taking it all in. "Remy, deal with Emma for me. She's gonna want somebody to hold her and tell her its all okay." Gambit's face looked doubtful. "Trust me, if there's one person I know it's Em. I just....I can't be.._that_ for her right now. I need to save it for Michael."

"Sure t'ing, Bobby. Sure t'ing."

Today was quickly shaping up to be the longest day of Rogue's life. It was normal in every kind of way. Laurel threw a temper tantrum after Remy left. She did a load of laundry. She made macaroni and cheese for lunch, which as usual Laurel refused to eat. Now that she thought of it, her two-year old hardly ever ate what was put in front of her, rather she ate everything on her parent's plates and then some. It was life as usual, but it felt like some surreal dream because she knew that it wasn't life as usual. Her friend's child had leukemia. That was certainly NOT usual. Her daughter's best friend was in the hospital, and somehow Rogue was going to have to break the news to her. She thought briefly about what Remy would say. "Petite," he'd say, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Papa's gotta tell you somet'ing sad, okay? But you gotta be a brave big girl. Michael's really sick, an' Papa don' know if he gonna get better." In her mind it sounded perfect, coming from Remy in his mellow voice, so warm and comforting. From her it sounded callous and condescending, like she was mocking how Celeste felt about Michael. She thought, just for a moment, about taking Remy up on his offer and waiting until he got home to tell her, but threw the idea away. Being a parent wasn't supposed to be easy, and if one of the hard parts was explaining to your nine-year old what cancer was then in a way Rogue counted herself lucky. After all, she was explaining it to her beautiful, healthy, cancer free daughter. The thought didn't make it any easier when the front door opened and a little girl in purple sneakers and a blue coat came marching through the door.

"Hi Mama!" Celeste shouted, running over to her with a paper half crumpled in her hand. "Look what I got, you'll never guess!"

Rogue snatched the paper out of her daughter's hand and a temporary distraction turned into an even longer one. "Lestey, sugah, this is YOAH spellin' test?" Celeste smiled, no she beamed. "Honey, y' got an A in spellin'?" Spelling had always been Celeste's worst subject, she spelled things like they sounded, and God knew in her household things didn't always even sound the way things sounded. At nine she could do math in her head like it was cake. In fact Remy was starting to work on probability with her through poker. But her reading had always lagged a little behind, and both her and Remy knew that it was, in part, due to her atrocious spelling. "Sugah, Ah'm so proud of you! Look, y' even spelled doubt right, 'n that's a tough one."

"I know." She stated proudly, "Where's Daddy, Mama? I wanna show him too. He probly won't even believe it." The temporary distraction was now officially over.

"About that, Lestey baby, why don'cha sit down here," She patted one of the stools by the island. "Mama's got somethin' she's gotta talk to you about." She watched Celeste carefully make her way over the seat, as if whatever Rogue was about to say would reach out and bite her.

"You an' Daddy have a fight?" Celeste asked quietly, looking at the floor.

"No, baby, Daddy 'n Ah didn' have a fight. Yoah Daddy had ta go take yoah Uncle Bobby ta Boston ta see Michael."

"Oh," Celeste perked back up. "Why didn' he wait for me, I wanna see Mike too."

Rogue took a big gulp of air, this was beyond difficult, and the look in her daughter's blue, blue eyes was making it practically impossible. "Ah know yah do baby doll, but you can't go where Daddy took Uncle Bobby."

"Why not?"

"Cause Uncle Bobby had ta go visit Michael in the hospital cause he's real sick, he's got a type of cancer called leukemia, and he's gonna be sick for a long time."

"But he's gonna be okay, right Mama?"

Rogue couldn't look into those blue, blue eyes anymore. "Ah wish Ah could tell ya that, baby doll, Ah wish Ah could." Finally Rogue mustered the courage to look into those eyes once more, and she saw something she had never thought she would see in her own daughter's eyes. Those baby blues screamed betrayal, and they were looking right at her, and there was nothing Rogue could do.

"I wanna talk to Daddy." Celeste said firmly, sliding off the stool.

"He doesn't have his phone on right now, baby doll. You cain't."

"I wanna talk to Daddy." And the tears started, each one stabbing Rogue in her very soul. "Daddy makes everything better, I wanna talk to Daddy!"

"Ah told ya, baby doll," Rogue said, reaching out to hug her, "you cain't right now."

"No!" Celeste shouted, running to her room. "Don't touch me! I want my Daddy! I want Daddy now!" With that, the door slammed and Rogue's fragile heart shattered.

She sat on the floor where she stood and just let the tears come. After a couple minutes a tiny voice came from behind her. "No cry Mama. Laur Laur kiss ouchy make it all gone!"

"Sweetie," Rogue said, her voice husky from crying. "This isn't an ouchy you can kiss and make go away."

The little two-year old tilted her head and looked at Rogue as if considering what her mother had just said in some profound way. "Mama," she finally said, plopping down in Rogue's lap and putting one chubby hand on each of her cheeks. "Laur Laur kiss ouchy make it all gone." That said she kissed Rogue in her little two-year old smacking kind of way right on the nose and Rogue had to admit that the "ouchy" might not have been all gone, but it certainly hurt less.

Bobby was at least right about one thing, Emma certainly was looking for something to cling to. When they got to the door of the room it had been Michael's old ratty bear he had officially named "Woovy" at fourteen months after his Uncle Logan. Everybody knew the story. Michael had been the first child born at the mansion (not that Scott and Jean hadn't tried their damndest) and from about one on he simply worshipped two people in that house besides his mother and father, his Uncle Logan and his Uncle Remy. One day he was sitting in front of Sesame Street in the Rec room and Logan had come wandering in and said something like "Hey kid, whatcha watchin?" Now Michael wasn't exactly developmentally delayed but he was a somewhat slow kid at that age in terms of speaking, meaning he hadn't yet said his first word. But something about Logan must've sparked that need for communication because Michael stood up, turned away from the TV, held out his bear for his uncle to see and proudly shouted "Woovy" at the top of his lungs. Emma was pissed, Bobby thought it was hysterical, Logan couldn't walk into a room with Michael in it for a whole month without the boy starting up shouts of "Woovy, woovy." Emma hated it, which showed just how uncertain she was that she was sitting there, hugging the poor lumpy "Woovy" as if her life depended on it. Celeste had a "Woowoo" (a cat, not a bear) that had gotten its name in a very similar way, and Remy could easily see himself in Emma's position, "Woowoo" scrunched in his arms if it was his little girl in that hospital bed. Bobby was talking to Michael, he was putting on a strong brave front, and Remy was proud of him for it. He didn't know that he'd be able to do the same. He took the opportunity to sidle up to Emma. "Why don' you an' I go get somethin' t'eat while de boys here talk, hmm petite?" She nodded, and he helped her up by the arm and out the door. He doubted she'd eaten anything in more than a day, and some time out of that room would do her and Bobby both some good. Heck, it'd probably even do Michael some good to have her away for a half-hour.

"Thank you, Gambit, for bringing Bobby I mean." She looked at the floor. It was disconcerting in a way. Emma Frost NEVER looked at the floor, she looked you right in the eyes, into your very soul and didn't give a damn if it made you uncomfortable. If things didn't turn out well, Remy was afraid this would break her in a way that couldn't be fixed. "After I got off the phone with him I was afraid he'd drive his fool self up here like a maniac. I was....worried."

"S'no problem Em, y'know Mikey means as much t'me as one'a my own." Inwardly he cringed. One did not remind the mother of a sick child that he had two beautiful healthy children at home waiting for him, while she did not.

"How are the girls?" Emma asked, cautiously but casually as if Children's Hospital was where most old friends met to catch up.

"'M sorry Em, dat was pretty tactless o' me. I jus'....."

"No, please Remy," Her eyes pleaded, even if her voice didn't. "Give me some normalcy, I need it. Show me that much respect."

"'Kay, well Lestey's doin' good. She's gettin' good grades in school, cept spellin'. Fact I t'ink she had a spellin' test today..." So the normalcy began, and in deference to her request Remy just kept talking as he filled their two trays in the cafeteria line. He fed her every boring mundane fact he could about his two girls, about Rogue, life at the mansion, Wolverine, Storm, Kurt. He avoided Kristen. And Emma soaked it all in because it was boring, because it was mundane, and because it had no relation to a little boy who might just be dying of cancer.

Bobby felt like he had just stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone. There was his little boy, in a hospital bed, the bracelet on his wrist declaring for all those that doubted that yes, he was a patient. He just didn't look sick. Bobby was expecting tubes, and sweating, and pale skin, but Michael looked perfectly normal. It was eerie, mentally he knew his son was extraordinarily sick, but visually he just couldn't see it. "Take a picture, ice cube, it'll last longer."

Bobby didn't realize he'd been staring. "Bud, I got more pictures of you than I can stand to look at. And since when is it okay to call your father Ice Cube? I mean isn't he that lame rapper who's on Law and Order now?"

Michael laughed, and it sounded good. Bobby wanted to catch it and put it in a box to have forever. "No, that's Ice T, Dad. Ice Cube's the not so lame one."

"It's still no way to talk to your father." Bobby pointed out. "At least call me Freeze-whiz or something."

"Okay, Cheeze-whiz, whatever you say."

Bobby smiled. "So, Mikester, long time no see."

"It's been six weeks, Dad."

"Six weeks is a long time when you're a Dad, I'm not getting any younger over here you know. Someday when you're old like me you'll get it."

"Right, Uncle Wolvie is so way older than you."

"Hey, I said old, not ancient!" Bobby said in mock horror. "Anyway, what's been goin' on since I saw you last."

Michael shrunk back onto the bed. "I got sick, Dad. I think the doctors think I might die."


	3. Cheating

"Wait just one minute!" Emma yelled at the poor man sitting across from her in the conference room. The one Bobby had been calling 'Frosty's next victim' for half the day. "You do not seriously mean to tell me that you are sending my boy home!"

"Ms Frost, please..." Dr. Nighelli attempted to explain.

"I will not 'please'! My child is sick, and you are just going to send him home! What the hell kind of institution are you people running here?!" Never in his life had Bobby actually seen Emma get red in the face like this, not even during active labor. He was certainly glad that he was not Dr. Nighelli.

"Em, love, please. Th'man does have a point."

"You stay out of this Cassidy! I've never told you how to take care of your child, don't attempt to tell me how to care for mine." Bobby was also glad that he was not Banshee. "Now you cannot possibly believe that my son, who is still nauseous from his last round of chemotherapy by the way, does not need to be in a medical facility."

That look on her face, the one Bobby knew like the back of his hand, the one that said 'if I can't convince you to change your mind, I'll MAKE you change your mind', was starting to appear. It was time for him to step in before poor Dr. Nighelli found himself back in medical school, probably as a cadaver. "Emma, there's nothing they can do for Mikey here that one of us can't take care of at home. Do you really want to confine him to four sterile walls, or would you rather make him happy?"

She was looking at the floor again. "I'd rather make him healthy Robert, but I don't have the power to do that...do I?"

It was an admission, and for Bobby Drake and Emma Frost it was a beginning. After a week of doctor's visits and chemo treatments and stony silence they were finally going to be able to talk like civil human beings, for the first time in almost four years. "Let's have a chat, Frosty." He nodded toward the office door, and she went. Sean went to follow. "Not you, Cassidy." The look between the two was cold, colder than even the Iceman thought he was capable of. "Not ever you." With that Robert Drake stepped out the door and closed it, leaving himself and his ex-wife properly secluded in the hallway. "Why do you want to leave him here, Em?"

Simple questions weren't supposed to cause tears, but somehow this one did. "I'm scared, Bobby, alright?" Emma screamed. She sunk to the floor, knees to her chest, back pressed against the wall behind her. She wasn't looking at him. "What if something happens in the middle of the night, what if he needs a doctor and I can't get him to one in time? Bobby, what if..." She looked right at him, and he read the last words in her eyes 'what if he dies in my arms because I can't save him, what if I lose my baby?'

"Don't even think it, Emma." Her look was pleading. "Don't!" He sighed and sat too, somehow it was more comfortable this way. "There's a way around this you know, I could take him with me." The look in her eyes, the set of her jaw said 'no' but she was going to hear him out. "Hank is there, and he's a doctor. Granted a geneticist but he does know more about medicine than anyone else I know. Cecelia's always on call too, so she'd be there in a heartbeat if there was an emergency. He'd get to see his whole family too, I'm sure he misses them. Remy was just saying the other day how Celeste was hoping..."

"Okay." Emma mumbled, cutting him off. "I get it. Congratulations, Drake, it's a good idea for once. You only forgot one little detail."

"What's that?"

"His mother. What am I supposed to do, sit on my thumbs and wait for daily updates?"

Bobby shrugged. "You could come too. Xavier wouldn't mind, hell he'd probably be thrilled to have you back in the house."

Emma laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh to Bobby's ears. "If I come, my husband comes too."

"Kinda figured that." Bobby mumbled.

"Think you can stand Sean and I, together in your house for an undefined period of time?"

"Think you can stand me and Kristen together in my house for an undefined period of time?"

For once a smile, albeit small, graced Emma's lips. "Touche." She rose from the floor and reached once more for the handle to the office door. "Oh, and Robert, it's Kristen and I, not me and Kristen."

Bobby smirked at her back. "That's my Queen Frosty."

* * *

"Dat ain't a hand, Mikey." Remy laughed from where he sat on the end of Michael's bed. "How many times I done tol' you boy, a t'ree, four, five, six ain' no straight."

"Why not?" Michael shouted crossly. "It's all in a row."

"Y'need five cards to make a hand, Mikey." Remy laughed, holding up a hand with all his fingers splayed. "Count 'em, one, two, t'ree, four, five."

"Texas Hold 'Em sucks." Michael declared, tossing his lousy hand back at his uncle, who miraculously held yet another four of a kind.

"Aw, come on now Mikey. Y'didn' actually t'ink Uncle Remy'd let you win did you?" Gambit laughed, retrieving the cards and shuffling the deck.

"Yah, I know." Michael mumbled, then suddenly his eyes lit up and he sat back up straight. "Uncle Remy, teach me how to cheat."

It caught him by such surprise that Remy just started laughing. "What you talkin' bout cheatin'?"

"Come on, Uncle Remy, I know you cheat." He stated, pointing at the cards in the Cajun's hands. "Nobody gets four of a kind three times in a row."

"How you know I ain' jus' lucky?" Remy asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Cuz, Celeste showed me where you hide all the marked decks."

That remark caught Gambit totally by surprise. "Dat little sneak! Who else she show? I gon' paddle her butt blue when I get my hands on her."

"Like father, like daughter, huh Remy?" Bobby's voice laughed from the door to Michael's room. "Don't act so surprised anyway, Logan figured out your marking system a good two years ago."

"I t'ought he was winnin' too much." Remy laughed.

"We all packed up and ready to go in here?" Bobby asked, grabbing one of Michael's bags and leaving the other for Gambit to snag on his way out.

"Yeah," Michael started to slide out of the bed, then stopped halfway. "Dad?" Bobby turned back. "Do I REALLY have to go out in a wheelchair?"

"Michael..." Bobby sighed, coming back into the room.

"But I can walk! I don't feel sick anymore, I don't want..."

Bobby squatted down in front of Michael. "What don't you want, Mikey?"

"I don't want to look like one of them." He looked down at the floor. "I don't want to look like a sick kid."

Bobby mentally steeled himself for yet another 'Michael you are a sick kid' talk when once again Remy saved his ass the trouble. "Uncle Remy got an idea. Y'momma said she don' want y'walkin, right?" Both Michael and Bobby nodded, Bobby much more vigorously than Michael. "So how bout y'Daddy take de bags, an' Uncle Remy carries y'down piggy back? T'ink y'can hold on dat long?"

"Remy," Bobby started. "Emma's real big on following the letter AND the spirit of the law. I don't think this is..."

"Y'know, Mikey." Remy stated, completely ignoring Bobby and his uncertain rant. "Time was 'fore you were born dat y'daddy here was actually fun."

Michael laughed. "Really?"

Remy cocked his head to the side for a second as if considering while Michael climbed on his back. "Non, not really."

* * *

It had been one long week, but he was finally coming home. Rogue turned to look at her daughter as she hung up the phone. "Daddy's comin' home today, baby." Rogue smiled, hoping that this news might make Celeste say something to her. No response, one whole week and her nine-year old daughter had not said a single word to her. "Michael's comin' home with him an' Uncle Bobby." Still no response, not even the acknowledgement of eye contact. Rogue never in her wildest dreams would have thought a nine-year old capable of keeping this going for so long. It was starting to worry her. "Celeste, darlin', say somethin'!" But instead the girl just hopped off the counter and shut herself in her room. "Well looks like it's jus' you an' me, sugah." Rogue sighed, looking over at her two-year old.

"Eggs yummy, Mama!" Laurel replied. Rogue laughed, on the bright side of things her youngest had stopped throwing the food put in front of her and started eating it just to 'make Mama not sad'. How pathetic was it when a two-year old started to feel sorry for you, Rogue wondered. Luckily a knock on the door broke her concentration before she could fully contemplate the answer. "Door Mama!" Laurel shouted happily, mashing her fork into her scrambled eggs and ketchup.

"Ah heard it, sweetie." Rogue said, moving to answer it before the person knocked again and her floor suffered more ketchup abuse because of it. Unsurprisingly, it was Kristen. "Heard from Bobby, huh?" Rogue asked, heading back to the kitchen knowing Kristen would naturally follow.

"I take it Remy called too." Kristen stated, pulling up a stool for herself across from Laurel's booster chair. "Hey kiddo, how's breakfast?"

"Eggs yummy. Wansum?" Laurel asked holding her fork out to Kristen, who looked back blankly.

Luckily Rogue seemed to understand and saved Kristen the embarrassment of having to ask Laurel to repeat. At two her words could still be tough to understand half the time. "No sweetie, I don' think Aunt Kristen wants any o' yoah breakfast, but that was some good sharin' though."

"Kay." Laurel laughed, and returned to mashing her fork into the now mostly orange filled plate and shoving whatever stuck into her mouth.

"We're learnin' forks, gets pretty messy." Rogue whispered, sitting next to Kristen and putting a napkin over her lap.

"I see," Kristen laughed, though she had to admit, Laurel's method seemed to be working. "Where's Celeste?"

Rogue sighed, squeezing more ketchup on Laurel's plate as she did. "In her room again, she still hasn't said anythin' to me since last Friday."

"But it's been a week." Kristen gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

"Ah know. Ah try t'talk t'her, but she jus' ignores me an' avoids me. Ah'm really startin' t'worry." She turned to look at Kristen. "Lestey's always been kinda sensitive, n' fo' her at least this ain' normal. She jus' ain' th'type t'bottle up on yah. Ah haven' said anythin' t'Remy, but Ah jus' don' know what t'do."

"Do you think..." Kristen trailed off, looking at Celeste's door. "Do you think maybe she'd talk to me?"

"Oh, Ah don' know, sugah." Rogue said warily. "Not that Ah got anythin' against ya, but Lestey ain' always been yoah biggest fan." Kristen looked away from the door and shrugged. "Ah mean, if you wanna try, by all means be mah guest." Rogue laughed a little, looking back at Celeste's bedroom door. "Gawd knows, even if she yells at ya, it's still more than Ah've gotten outta her in a week." Rogue put a supporting hand on Kristen's forearm "Jus' don' feel bad if y'don't get an answer."

Kristen smiled at her and stood from the stool, walking down the short hallway to the door that proudly declared in wooden letters painted purple and green: Celeste's Room. She took a deep breath. "Celeste?" No answer. "Celeste, it's Kristen. Can I come in and talk to you?" Silence. Kristen sighed and turned back toward the kitchen shrugging. Then she heard a sound behind her, Celeste's door was open.

* * *

Kristen closed the door silently behind her. There was Celeste sitting indian style in the middle of her bed looking out the window. "Is Michael gonna die?" The words were so unexpected that Kristen almost didn't hear them to answer.

"We all die someday, Celeste." She said finally, sitting at the end of the bed as far from Celeste as possible, leaving the girl a comfort zone.

"Kristen, what happens when you die?"

_This one sure doesn't pull the punches_ Kristen thought while she came up with an answer. "Well, I guess that depends on who you ask." She answered honestly.

Celeste finally turned to face her. "I'm asking you."

The stare was making Kristen uncomfortable, and the answer even more so. How would Rogue and Remy react if they learned Kristen was teaching their daughter her own religious beliefs? Though the longer she could keep Celeste talking, she reasoned, the better chance she had of getting her to open up. "My beliefs," Kristen cleared her throat before clarifying. "In my religion, when a person dies they are judged on their karma..."

"What's karma?" Celeste interrupted.

"Karma is the good and bad things a person does."

"Oh."

"If a person has good karma," Kristen continued, "then they come back to life as a new and better creature. If they have bad karma they come back to life as a lower and not so good creature."

"What kind of creature?" Celeste asked curiously.

"Well, if you're really good you come back as a cow." Kristen stated.

For a second Celeste gave no reaction, then she started to laugh. "You have a funny religion Kristen. Cows aren't better than people!"

"Oh, I don't know." Kristen laughed too. "Cows aren't so bad, they certainly don't cheat at poker."

"Hey," Celeste giggled. "My Daddy cheats at poker!"

"Then we don't have to worry about him becoming a cow, do we?" Kristen laughed, and Celeste laughed even harder. Then just as suddenly as the laughter started it stopped and Celeste looked like she was about to cry.

"Kristen, do you think in your religion, Michael would be a cow?"

"Oh, honey." Kristen spread her arms and Celeste dove for the comfort. "I'm sure if anything happened Michael would be the most beautiful cow in the whole entire world. But I don't think we have to worry about that yet, not for a long time."

"Kristen?" Celeste asked quietly from the shelter of her arms.

"Uh-huh?"

"I won't tell Michael you think he'd be a pretty cow, it would make him angry."

Kristen laughed, a deep hearty laugh that she hadn't had in a week at least. "Thank you, honey. It'll be our little secret."


End file.
